


Könige Lösegeld

by wede_fic (frahulettaes)



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-08
Updated: 2006-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24082273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frahulettaes/pseuds/wede_fic
Summary: Title: Des Koenigs LoesgeldAuthor: fraPairing: Viggo/Orlando, Elijah/Karl, Elijah/other, various.Author's Notes: In the early days of Roman expansion into the Germanic states. None of the places or people exist but resemble things that might generally have happened during that time. This is playing very fast and loose with both Roman and Germanic cultural structures. I'm jamming history, LOTR and a book by Mel Keegan called East Wind Blowing into a moshed up story of my own making. The title is meant to say a Kings Ransom. Series until the natural end of the story. I started this before I knew of other Roman stories in the fandom though I'm sure the fandom is big enough for a few in that era. Also, I pretty much threw in every LOTR/LOTRps character I could think of and as the story goes on, I think more will show up. The names have been, hmmm, how to put this, modified? To fit the story as I saw it.ETA: thanks to the native speakers who've commented on the title.
Relationships: Elijah Wood/Original Male Character(s), Karl Urban/Elijah Wood, Orlando Bloom/Viggo Mortensen





	1. Chapter 1

2005

They had moved in the night. Orlanus' belly ached from hours slung over the saddle and he recognized nothing of the surrounding misty trees and hills. And he was cold. The ragged layers of his tunic, armor and cloak kept none of the northern chill from his aching bones.

His captor was a single northman, a grimy hand wringing slave to the tall soldier who'd bested him two days previous. That warrior had spent some hours conferring in his rough language with several other northmen loudly and with occasional sharp crack of fist on wood.

He knew none of this tongue and so had lain bound and aching on cold ground while the wolves fought over his future. When finally his fate was decided, the lesser men had made him fast over the saddle of a wide, furry northern pony, his care given to the slave now cooking his meal over the coals of a tiny fire.

The slave sang quietly to himself, occasionally stabbing the air with his small knife and then rocking forward and back, head tilted as though listening for a distant voice. Orlanus was not close enough to smell him now but for the few moments when the creature had dragged him from the pony, Orlanus had gagged and coughed at the stench.

He rolled forward and struggled to sit on his knees. The slave did not look at him but kept stirring and singing.

"I beg you please, for water." He said. He kept his head down and waited to be noticed. The slave made no move toward him but his singing stopped and there was a long moment of tense waiting. Orlanus cleared his throat again and this time looked at his captor. "Please," he croaked and looked at the drinking bladder lying next to the man's grimy coat. "May I have some water?"

The slave looked at Orlanus then followed Orlanus gaze to the drinking bladder and spoke some of his rough, dark words, struggled to his feet and shuffled towards Orlanus, a leering smile on his pasty face. Orlanus swallowed a wave of disgust and opened his mouth to catch the stream of water.

The water tasted like nectar of the Gods and he drank greedily, swallowing quickly, mouth still open to catch every drop. After a few moments the slave drew the bladder away and capped it, returning to his fire to stir whatever was in the meager pot.

Orlanus voice was much more its normal timber now he'd had a bit to drink and it gave him some of his confidence back. "Please, allow me to do as nature intended?" he asked. The slave looked at him again, head tilted, waiting for a clue.

On his heels, hands tied behind him he had little in the way of pantomime but he looked at his cock and squirmed uncomfortably as though he were a child. This time the slave grimaced and spat angry words at him, but he did get up and grab Orlanus arm, dragging him to the line of trees.

"I cannot tend myself while my hands are tied." Orlanus shrugged his shoulders and looked ruefully at his cock again. "Please." He added quietly.

The man drew his short blade out and cut Orlanus bindings but the instant the ropes fell, the slave's knife was at Orlanus throat. His threat was clear and Orlanus understood. They watched each other carefully, Orlanus trying not to move too much, as he untied his smallclothes and relieved his aching bladder.

Not more than a minute later he was again kneeling in the loamy dirt, hands behind the small of his back tied securely. Those small things attended to, the slave went back to his meal and Orlanus was left to wonder where he was and to whom he'd been traded.

~~~~~~~

By sunrise, the small glade was free of fog and the slave arose to stir the ashes and prepare to break camp. Orlanus slept fitfully, on his side, his head at an angle that left him with a painful crick in his neck. He hissed as he struggled to his knees and rolled his shoulders to assuage the pain.

This time the slave brought him water without being asked, allowed him to relieve himself and the small luxury of washing his hands and face. He shivered and worked quickly at the layers of dust and blood and began to feel human for the first time in nearly a week.

He was given a small chunk of dark brown bread and a square of hard white cheese; his first meal in days and he ate it quickly.

When slave moved towards him, no doubt to make him fast over the pony's Orlanus shook his head.

"Please, let me walk. I will not run. I beg you, let me walk or ride astride." He said pleadingly.

There was a moment of impasse, both stubbornly holding ground when the sound of horses and men floated into the clearing and the slave grabbed Orlanus by the back of his neck and shoved him down to his knees.

Barely a breath later there was a knife under his chin and a hand in his hair while the slave shouted guttural words at a half dozen mounted and armed men. Orlanus gasped, the sharp jerk pulled the pain in his neck and the slave's hand was merciless in his hair.

Once the slave was done shouting, the largest man of the mounted group spoke to him in quiet, reasoned measures. His language was of the northmen but unlike the soldiers who'd captured him, this man spoke softly with rolling sounds instead of harsh breaks.

His captor yanked Orlanus to his feet and shoved him to the pony's side. Before he could be thrown over the wide back, the tall mounted man spoke again and the slave shouted derisively over his shoulder while bending Orlanus towards the pony.

The next flurry of action was too quick for Orlanus to follow but it ended with the slave face down in the muddy loam and Orlanus being held by the tall, now un-mounted, man.  
The tall man spoke quietly to his soldiers and quickly they were mounted up, Orlanus behind the tall man with the slave astride the pony, hands tied and yelling at the top of his lungs.

Orlanus couldn't help a small feeling of pleasure at seeing his captor's predicament.

~~~~~~

By mid-day the small train of men and horses came to a large town built around a huge wooden house. The town was well fortified with walls and guards and the group was stopped several times to make their presence and business known at the succession of baileys.

His erstwhile captor had quieted down, his words all but ignored by the soldiers as the morning wore on and he was left to scowl at passersby as they entered the last fortification at the rear of the immense wood and stone house.

Orlanus was helped off the horse, his hands still tied but in much better spirits than he'd started the morning. He and the slave were taken into the house, along dark corridors and between rooms until, at last, they came to huge open room near what would be the front of the house.

In that room, on a large chair sat a man. Orlanus guessed he must be the ruler of this house, this land. He was made to kneel before the large chair, not on cold stone or dirt but on rich, thick fur, near a warm hearth. Its heat felt like a blessing to his sore muscles and he sighed.

~~~~~~~~

Viggo was not, as some would say, a blood thirsty king. In fact, he would argue, in his solemn way, that he was no king at all. Just the caretaker of his son's lands until that boy was old enough to rule in his stead. This did not stop Viggo from protecting his lands with force of arms or from annexing those lands, the people of whom, desired his protection.

He was a warrior. But he was also a thinker. His Mother had ruefully said that he was born in the wrong lands, that he should have been one of the other folk. Viggo would laugh at that, but sometimes he wondered if she were right. She had been very wise.

Looking at the tableau before him, he wished she were here to advise him. His tall riders, the simpering heap of Rimma Grimhold and a ragged and tired Roman soldier. He sighed and rose to stand before the Rimma.

"Rimma," he said the name with great sympathy, "what have you been up to, eh?" He nodded to the roman boy in ragged armor and cloak, and patted the man's shoulder.

"Is this some trick of Sarn's? You come to my lands, against my words, and bring a Roman? I have no use for a Roman, Rimma." The Kings voice grew hard as stone. "Tell Sarn, he has had the last good of me. Next time, I will bring my men."

"Great King," Rimma stammered, "I come not from Sarn. He is dead these thirty days." The words tumbled out pitifully from Rimma's sickly mouth. "This boy," he gestured towards the roman, "is the payment of Boron. His gesture to you so that you may ransom him to the Romans." Rimma nodded, almost happily.

Viggo considered him and turned to the roman boy. He knelt and lifted his chin with one long finger. Until that very moment, Viggo would have said he would never again treat with Boron or the Romans. But the boy, no man, before him was like nothing he'd ever seen.

He was slim and fine, dark as a raven's wing with eyes to match. Viggo was bolted to the spot, unable to move, his breath taken clean away. Even dirty, tired and bloodied, he was like no other. Viggo's fingers lifted a heavy lock of dark hair and tenderly moved it out of the man's eyes.

"Beautiful." He murmured. "What are the terms, Rimma. Quickly." His voice went hard and he stood away from the roman, anxious to finish business.

"Boron asks that with this ransom his bloodguilt to you be forgotten and that in the spring you send an emissary to draw the boundary between your lands. He is anxious for peace."

"He is anxious to have allies against Rome." The King said.

He walked back to his large chair, upended a sleeping cat from the seat and settled into the wide padded space.

"You may tell Boron that I accept his bloodguilt. But he will send an emissary to me in the spring and I will decide on our shared boundary." He turned to the soldier at his side,

"Karl, take this," he paused for a moment, "slave" and waved towards Rimma, "to the border where you found him. And then come back straight away. I have need of you here."

"As you wish, my Lord." Karl said and left the hall in the company of his men dragging Rimma along between them.

Viggo turned back to the roman and sat, quite literally, staring. The roman sat on his heels, shoulders bent forward, head tilted down, seemingly waiting for what would happen next. This was no boy. This was a man. A fighting man. He was young, Viggo had no doubt of it, but he was blooded and every aspect of him spoke of killing skill.

Servants came and went, the fire was stirred and when finally Viggo was through with his observation, the cats had made their bed upon his lap. He rubbed absently at one furred head and called one of his caretakers.

"Find Elly and bring him to me." The caretaker nodded and moved away. But before he was out of range Viggo added "You'll most likely find him in the east stables loft." And then smiled to himself. "The stable lads are there now."

~~~~~~~~~

Orlanus had begun to doze, sitting in the warmth on the fur. This was luxury compared to his time in the other northern camp and like any soldier, he knew to take rest when the opportunity presented itself. A few moments or minutes later he caught himself nearly falling forward and snorted himself awake much to the Lords amusement.

His new captor was lean and honed as a weapon. But while his posture spoke of coiled strength, his eyes were clear of malice though not soft and his face held a thoughtfulness he'd long missed since his defeat to the south. He wondered not for the first time what had become of his men, or their bodies, he thought sadly for there had been few survivors.

By now the garrison would know of their defeat and a corps would be sent to parley for the officers. Of which he was one. But not just an officer. He was the son of a senator and the bedfellow of the great Vellos Arenus. He could just hear Vellos bellow when they told of his defeat. The thought made him smile and then frown. Vellos had been right about the northmen and should he ever make it back into the general's ranks, he was sure to receive some stripes for his arrogance.

He secretly welcomed anything that would mean he would return to the 9th. If it was stripes, well then, he'd take them like the soldier he was and hope his talented mouth would once again have him in the general's good graces. At worst, perhaps Vellos would send him home to serve in Rome. An outcome that felt like ashes in his mouth.

He wanted to fight. To earn his place in the army and to someday earn his place in the senate like his father before him. Looking at the northern king, he wondered if the road of his life would end here, at the hands of this quiet, dangerous man. He shook his head. His fate was in the hands of the gods and always had been. He would just have to bear their will.

~~~~~~~~

The roman waited well. Viggo watched all the long time it took for Elly to come before him and in all that time the roman neither sweated nor begged. He had nearly fallen over asleep in the beginning, his snorted awakening brought a smile to Viggo's face. It was a soldier's trick to sleep in odd positions and it spoke well of the roman.

Some time later the hall doors opened admitting the caretaker and a smooth skinned younger man. Viggo stood up and enfolded the youth in a warm embrace.

"You smell of mischief, little wolf." Viggo tilted the young man's face up for a soft kiss and a ruffling of dark hair.

"The stable boys are in, as you well know, my Lord." Elly quirked a beautiful brow at his king and shifted into a saucy pose, "and I am loath to be drawn away from them."

Viggo laughed and kissed Elly again. "My apologies for your loss, little wolf. But we have business to attend. Yes," he gripped Elly's shoulder, "even you must attend me sometimes, wastrel." He said fondly. "What," Viggo said turning Elly towards the roman, "Do you make of that?"

Elly crossed his arms and looked in frank appraisal at the roman. His eyes slid to Viggo and then to the roman again. "It's a roman." He said and looked at the soldier again. "A roman soldier. What do we need a roman soldier for, my lord? Unless," Elly stepped closer and knelt before the soldier, nose wrinkling at his unwashed smell. "it was a wealthy roman soldier."

He fingered the fine ornaments on the roman's breast plate and the tight weave of his tunic. His scarlet cloak was stained dark with blood but there was no doubt of it's finery.

Viggo nodded, smiling. "It's a gift from a friend." He was too smug about this for Elly to miss the reference.

"Boron?" Elly smiled evilly. "He wants an ally against the Romans." Elly finished with a nasty chuckle. "And what will we owe Boron, my Lord?"

The King smiled slowly, "We shall have our ransom and we will forgive Boron's debt," he said quietly.

"And the Southfold?" Elly asked. Viggo drew Elly back into his embrace.

"In the spring, Boron will send an emissary to negotiate the new border of the Southfold, little wolf." Viggo kissed the lush, upturned mouth and Elly, smiling, let him for a good long time.

It was Elly who broke the kiss and set his fingertips to the king's full lips. He looked at Viggo for a time, firstly to see what he could of Viggo's mood and then, curiously, to see what had not been revealed.

"It has been long and long since you kissed me so, my Lord." Elly's words were a quiet drift of sound, meant only for the king's ears. "I am happy about the Southfold, it was my dearest wish, but this," Elly's fingers drifted softly over the king's lower lip, "speaks of something awakened in you." He searched the king's face as he spoke and, tellingly, Viggo's eyes were the first to drop.

The king's gaze fell on the roman and Elly followed it there with poorly hidden surprise.

"The roman? My lord, are you quite mad? He is our peace for the next year. Perhaps more. You cannot," Elly stumbled on the words. "He's not," Elly continued. "My Lord?"

Viggo's sea-colored changeling eyes did not lie. Elly knew it in an instant. His king would have the roman and they would fight Rome in the spring, with or without Boron at their backs.

"My Lord," Elly said slowly, "I think we will need those mercenaries after all." He laid a gentle, white hand on Viggo's cheek. "What would you have of me, my Lord?" Elly whispered.

Viggo sighed and let his forehead touch Elly's. "You know me too well, little wolf." He said ruefully. "Bathe him. Dress him. And keep him to you. And when Karl returns I'll send him to you both. He goes nowhere without you. Both of you. Mind my words, little wolf. He is your charge." Viggo mirrored Elly's hold on his cheek. "Until I call for him. Do this for me." Viggo sighed. "Do this for me, Elly."

Elly looked at the King and then the roman. He smiled a wry smile.

"Without question, my Lord." He said. Viggo hugged Elly tight then released him and knelt in front of the roman.

Once again he lifted the fine smooth chin with is fingers and met the cool, dark eyes.

"How are you named?" Viggo said in the roman tongue. The roman's eyes widened with surprise, his relief showing plainly.

"Orlanus Delia, my Lord." He said, his voice a smooth cultured tenor.

Viggo smiled.

"Orlanus." He whispered, fingertips learning the curve of Orlanus cheek. "Orlanus Delia. Given to Diana. A fitting name. I am Viggo. This is my home." Viggo gestured to himself and the room by way of introduction and then drew Elly down by his side.

"And this rogue," he tousled Elly's hair, much against the younger man's will. "is Elly. He is my," Viggo and Elly looked at each other as though sharing a great secret, "he is like my own." He stood and pulled Orlanus to his feet. "Go with Elly, Orlanus. I'll call for you soon." Viggo cut the ties on the roman's hands and helped to rub some of the life back into them.

Orlanus smiled in gratitude and followed Elly out of the hall.

Viggo watched them walk to the door, watched the caretaker open it and the scarlet cloak fade into the dark hallway beyond.

~~~~~~

By the gods the hot water felt good. A year since leaving Rome. In that year not once had he been submerged in hot, clean water. His muscles and joints relaxed and he lay as the dead, head on the side of the giant wooden barrel tub, floating in a misty haze of steam.

His guardian Elly, had added herbs and oils, chatting quietly in his native language all the while. Of all the things he expect from being a prisoner, this was not anywhere near the list. Whatever had happened between the slave Rimma and the King, Orlanus had ended up with the best end of the bargain.

He frowned at the thought suddenly, remembering the naked hunger in the King's eyes as he said Orlanus name slowly, thoughtfully. He wondered where the King had learned Latin and if he had been to Rome. He would have to ask; just as soon as he awoke from stupor he felt bearing down him.

He sat up and drew to the edge of the tub, reluctant to leave but fearing to drown from fatigue.

"Elly." He called the man softly. "Please, Elly, bed soon. I fear I'm already asleep." He smiled a tired smile and Elly, whether he understood or not, helped him from the barrel bath and into a large, soft cloth. He felt like a spoiled child and hummed, as he had not since leaving his mother's house.

Elly kept up his soft, one sided conversation and Orlanus found he liked the handsome young man's voice. And his eyes, he'd never seen eyes so blue. If he were not so clearly the king's man, Orlanus might have tried to bed him. He was exhausted, he must be because he was saying soft things now himself. Lulled by heat and soft care he leant his head onto Elly's shoulder, caressed his arm, lay limp as Elly dressed him in a warm tunic and leggings.

~~~~~~~~

When he woke, slowly and with great languor, he was tucked into a huge, deep, wide bed. In the curve of his belly was the soft white back of Elly, snug in his arms and behind him another warm presence who, he thought, must be Viggo.

He wanted nothing more than to lay here for the next ten-day but his bladder thought otherwise and he began to extricate himself from Elly and creep down the bed. He was on hands and knees, on the soft down cover, when the point of a dagger made itself known to his throat.

He froze, swallowing heavily. A soft prison, but a prison and no doubt.

"Where do you go, Roman?" His other bedpartner, not Viggo but the tall man from the clearing, asked him in a sleep-roughened voice. This one spoke Latin as well so Orlanus turned his head towards the man slowly and told him.

"I must relieve myself. Unless you wish to sleep in it with me?" Orlanus cocked an eyebrow at the man. To his credit, the man smiled and sheathed his knife.

"There is a garderrobe behind the door. There." He pointed then crossed his arms above his head, clearly intending to keep an eye on Orlanus the whole time.

"My bladder thanks you." Orlanus said and he crawled off the bed. The floor may have been cold but his feet were in footed wooly leggings with, he found, leather soles so he felt none of the chill. They were a little bit harder to navigate in the garderrobe, the long layers of tunic confounding his efforts. At last he did manage to free himself make use of the low ceramic chamberpot.

He made his way back to the bed, his quiet observer watching. Orlanus crawled back the way he'd left and only when he was neatly tucked under the cover did the tall man lay his dagger in its sheath on the small table by his head. Elly murmured in his sleep and snuggled back into the curve of Orlanus belly.

He closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.

~~~~~~~

"You, my Lord, have found something you were looking for." The Kings eldest advisor Ynn's voice drifted to Viggo from the doorway of his private chamber. "And I don't think you know quite what to do with it." The old man nodded and walked regally into the room to where Viggo was sitting. He leaned forward until he was looking directly into the King's eye and said, "Or should I say, 'Him'?"

Viggo had the grace to drop his gaze and smile wryly. Ynn's presence was a comfort to Viggo now his mother was dead. But beyond that, he had been a good friend and advisor.

Viggo stood and poured a cup of small beer for Ynn and another one for himself. Ynn accepted the cup gratefully and they sat in comfortable silence drinking and thinking. After a time, Viggo set his cup down and turned to his friend.

"I have done something," He paused, looking away and down, took a breath and continued. "My friend, I have no words for what's happened. He is," the King smiled again, "I am lost, old friend."

Ynn regarded the King with sympathy and returned his smile. After some thought he said,

"Viggo, you have given your life to this place, to these people. How is it that after all this time you could possibly think we wouldn't want your happiness?" Ynn fell silent. Then added, "This man, this roman, he is a man of honor. He will expect to be ransomed. That is the way of his people. If you want to keep him, I think you will have to win him, my Lord, as you have won Elly and Karl. You will have to make him want to stay."

Viggo nodded but remain silent. After a while he rose and went to the cupboard, removed the ivory and ebony board and small pieces and brought them back to the table. He set each piece on it's respective square and took one of each color in his hands and held them out to the older man. Ynn tapped Viggo's right hand to reveal the white piece.

Viggo replaced the pieces, turned the board so black was on his side and waited for Ynn to make the first move.

TBC~


	2. King's Ransom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: The King's Ransom  
> Author: fra  
> Pairing: Many and varied. Viggo/Orli primarily.  
> Rating: Mature  
> Warning AR (alternative reality/wishfully historical)
> 
> Archived/crossposted: vigorli, carefullykissed, orlandoslash, fra_fiction, and vigorli yahoo group.  
> Disclaimer: fic·tion (fĭk'shən)n.  
> An imaginative creation or a pretense that does not represent actuality but has been invented. If I knew any of these guys, I'd be hanging out with them instead of sitting here writing this. None of this is real. It's pretend. I made it up. It's a story.  
> Beta: by beppie. thanks! I added a few parts so all mistakes are mine.  
> Author's Notes: I'm now going to do the Romans what I did to early German history. My profound apologies. And thank you to all who emailed and posted with historical tips and questions. I really love that sort of feedback. If your tip isn't in the story, please don't take it personally cause it's not meant that way. I'm chiefly interested in telling a story about characters and I've skimped on historicity to do it. Some of you will be pulled out of the story by that. I hope you'll read anyway.

Vellos Arenas' clerk, Pallas, was a round little slave from southern Rome who was a marvel of quiet efficiency and had a wickedly amusing sense of humor.

More than once the slave had observed the men in his command and had later offered excellent advice. It was Pallas' persuasion that prompted Arenas to send a few men to track down his errant, headstrong Centurion, Orlanus. And it wasn't the first time.

"A messenger from Rome, My Lord." Pallas announced.

"Show him in, Pallas." Arenas waved to the door without looking up. The sound of footsteps followed ending with the crisp slapping of a salute and a sharp "Sir."

Arenas continued his correspondence putting the final flourish to his name and handed the document to Pallas to be sealed. The soldier stood ramrod straight before him, a young man, travel stained with dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep.

Arenas darted a glance at Pallas who shared a concerned look with him then looked back at the soldier. The soldier's weariness indicated haste and haste, meant trouble. He feared that forces in Rome were moving. There was only one noble Roman in his cohort… and that was Orlanus.

He shook his head. That boy was nearly more trouble than he was worth. Nearly. He was a good soldier; well trained but he was not the favorite of Fortune.

"Pallas, some wine. Our young visitor looks about to drop from fatigue." Arenas smiled his enigmatic smile and gestured to the low divan near his make shift desk. "Sit, before you fall down."

The soldier nodded wearily and sank to the divan with a sigh.

Arenas rose and went to Pallas as he poured the wine. "Go quietly and find Csokas." He whispered. "We must get to Orlanus before the others." Pallas nodded, served the soldier his wine and quietly slipped out of the long scarlet tent.

Arenas went through the flat, heavy bag from Rome and quickly found what he looked for and dreaded. He read the missive with growing anger. Antonius Lucius Delias was dead along with several other Senators and their servants.

Orlanus was now the head of his house. A senator if he was lucky enough to survive the journey back to Rome. Based on Arenas experience of Orlanus, his survival was unlikely. He lacked the soul shriveling cunning of his father and the knife edged intuition of his mother. He was, thought Arenas, too good.

Certainly he stood little chance against the opposition. If Delias was dead, then his family was as well and Orlanus would then be too great a threat. They would surely have sent someone to kill him.

"Csokas, My Lord," Pallas said from the doorway. The named soldier entered and stood before Arenas' table.

"Sir." He drawled, the term clearly not a pleasure on his tongue.

"Pallas, see that our messenger gets food and rest." Arenas waved to the young soldier and waited while the slave lead the tired messenger away.

"What has happened, Arenas?" Csokas fingered the stack of documents from Rome and lifted an eyebrow. "What news?"

Arenas ignored him. He owed this man no explanation and the only reason Arenas had called him was that he had been a northman himself. He spoke the language and knew how to deal like the northmen, and frankly if anyone could get Orlanus now, it was he.

"You are to go north. Now. Take whom ever you like with you and find Orlanus." He handed Csokas the letter and a leather bag containing an amount of gold coins. "Buy him bargain for him or steal him but get him back here." Arenas held the soldiers hard stare for a long moment.

"I want him alive, Csokas, and unharmed. You have until the first snow."

Csokas smiled a dark slow smile. "Sir." Turned on his heel and left the long low scarlet tent.

~~~~~~~~~

Boron's northern most border was a scrolling lazy green river, wide and slow and full of fish. Faran knew it like the back of his hands; every narrow, ford and wash. He rode the border for a week at a time once a lunar cycle with two of his men, just like all the other captains.

This day Faran followed a set of unknown tracks from the highest ford up to the dense forested crest of the closest mountains.

He caught first site of the scarlet cloaked soldier and his two slaves when the sun reached its zenith, its rays filtering long and green through the lowering pines.

He supposed he should not have been surprised to find Romans so far north. These men were looking for Viggo. And he knew what they wanted from him. Romans were loath to part with their own.

He was one of the few to agree with Boron to send the boy to Viggo. Of all the lords he knew, Viggo was the only one traveled, the only one with enough men, the only one who would 'value' such a gift.

And after years of battling for a small patch of green land, maybe now they could agree and come to peace over the Southfold.

Faran followed the soldiers for hours, nearly the entirety of the day before they made camp somewhat shy of Viggo's borders. The shadows were grown long by the time Faran's men found him. Four tall, quiet men. More brothers to him than his own.

Through the course of the night they watched the Roman fire wax and wane and listened to their oily talk and rude laughter. When Faran felt he'd heard enough he left two men to follow and fled with the remaining men, down the hill to the open glen of his brother's house.

~~~~~~~~~

Orlanus had been Viggo's captive for nearly a week.

Everyday Viggo would visit his room, usually in the afternoon, for conversation or chess or a light meal. The Roman seemed resigned to his fate and while he showed interest in Viggo during their time together he rarely smiled or laughed.

Viggo supposed that was to be expected. The man was a hostage, or so he thought, and the little he knew of the circumstances of Orlanus' capture told him that his welcome back in the Roman army would not be a pleasant one.

And while Viggo found his house comfortable, for a fighting man like Orlanus used to living in the field, this room must have lost it's charm long since.

This afternoon when he arrived in Orlanus room, he found only Karl eating a solitary meal near the long, narrow window.

He raised an eyebrow and looked around the room.

"He is in the bath. Again. Elly's with him." Karl smiled a weary smile. "I am clean enough for the rest of winter. Even my horse doesn't know me."

Viggo smiled and sat across from Karl. "I appreciate your sacrifice. Thank you. So, he bathes daily? I didn't know. Perhaps it reminds him of home." He stabbed the other half of Karl's apple and began slicing a piece off.

"And no, before you ask. He's the same. Not happy, not sad." Karl said.

Viggo nodded, said nothing. Inhaled to ask but Karl interrupted him.

"No," Karl said, and ate another bite. "He didn't ask about you."

Viggo laughed at his own awkwardness. "Enjoy your meal." He said, and stood to leave.

Karl nodded with his mouth full and Viggo left him in peace.

~~~~~~~~

The bath in Viggo's house was the lowest room closest to the river. The great stone bathhouses in the east were his inspiration. So upon his return and against the advice of his elders, he built it, though his was of wood and thatch and not stone.

There were a few bath women and men who kept stones hot and recycled them in the bottom of the huge, wooden tube and made sure no one drowned as most of them couldn't swim.

Viggo used it when he had the time. Even Ynn used it claiming it soothed his old bones. Secretly, Viggo knew the man was a devoted hedonist and simply enjoyed the relaxation and calm atmosphere, just as he enjoyed several of Viggo's soldiers on occasion, probably more than Viggo knew.

Amidst the swirling steam and murky light Viggo could just make out the rounded edge of tub. Elly was speaking, his tenor rising and falling and surprisingly soft.

~~~~~~~~~

"And your father? He's a warrior like you?" Elly asked gently.

Orlanus felt the knife twist of regret at his own actions. He was nothing like his father.

"No, no. My father was a great warrior. I am a pale reflexion of him, of what he was. I…" He lay back against the tub's edge and covered his eyes with his wet hand.

"I will be sent back to Rome, most likely to my family and made to marry some senator's ugly younger daughter and make sons." He snorted at the thought. "And perhaps, if I'm cunning enough, become a senator like my father."

His voice was less than confident and he realized how depressed he'd become, stranded in this forest choked demesne. He felt trapped between the consequences of his position and his actions. On the one hand return to the Army and punishment. On the other, banishment from the Army to Rome and a loveless marriage of convenience.

His belly was leaden, depriving him of his appetite and rendering the world grey and colorless. Even Viggo's visits, enjoyable as they were, held less attraction as the days droned on. He wanted to be finished, to end the not knowing and take the punishment and move on.

He looked at his guardian, dark hair wetted by steam, face soft with concern.

He was unearthly beautiful. Skin like milk, eyes like the sky and a soft, sweet mouth that Orlanus had tried to kiss once. He'd found himself looking at the rough wooden ceiling timbers with Karl's hand at the base of his throat. No words were exchanged nor needed to be. He never touched Elly again.

And he kept his mouth shut. Elly was more than happy to talk about himself or the house or tell him amusing stories about their daily practice in the stable yard. But when it came to his King, Elly silently discouraged Orlanus questions with a sad smile and shifted eyes.

Nor would he talk about Orlanus' future.

"Thank you, Elly." Orlanus looked at his new friend.

Elly quirked an elegant eyebrow at him.

"For what?"

"For treating me like a friend. I don't... I didn't..." Orlanus stuttered over the words, not exactly sure what he wanted to say. "Being a hostage is new to me. I don't know what to expect. When they will come for me. Or if."

The weight of recent experiences became suddenly heavy in his chest and he tightened his lips trying to keep his words of weakness in, to keep some semblance of dignity.

He must have gotten lost in thought for he jumped when Elly laid a hand on his shoulder and called his name a little louder than necessary. He realized Elly must have said it several times and tried to regain some measure of self-control.

"Your commander, Vellos, he has sent someone." Elly tightened his grip. "Karl's men watch for them now on our borders and though we are hard to find, he will make sure they arrive safely."

Orlanus met Elly's eyes.

"I..." Elly stammered. "I can't. Orlanus don't think that Viggo…" he was cut off by Viggo's quiet interruption.

"Don't think that Viggo what, Elly?"

Steam shifted and parted and Viggo stepped to the side of the tub and ruffled Elly's hair.

Orlanus was filled with dread. He hoped Elly would not be punished for his forwardness. Elly and he exchanged a solemn look.

"My Lord." Elly said and bent down to gather his things. "I... I didn't mean to,"

"Hush, wolfling. I know." Viggo curled a hand around Elly's arm and drew him out of his crouch. "Thank you." He kissed Elly's forehead and pushed him towards the outer door. "Go play."

Elly looked over his shoulder at Viggo and Orlanus as he scrambled up the outer steps and through the large wooden door.

"He is a good man. Please, do not punish him. He was trying to help me and…" He stopped talking when Viggo raised his hand, palm out, placating.

"I know he means well. He's just over protective. It seems I'll never break him of that." Viggo shook his head and smiled. After a moment he reached out and took his hand and turned it palm up.  
"Do you have any skin left I wonder?"

Orlanus froze. The King had yet to touch him since that first day. Now, with his wet hand laid open in the King's grasp, he felt his breath hitch.

Viggo's hand was tapered, strong and brown. Not as brown as his but healthfully golden. And strong and cool compared to the bath water. He looked up at the King and their eyes met.

Viggo was nothing if not expressive. Orlanus thought him handsome though he was not the sort of man he normally desired and he was wary of allowing the King to take things further and ruin his chances to return to the Army.

He thought about his words to Elly and the ugly, elder Senators' daughter with whom he would have to make sons. It sent a shudder through him.

"Come, walk with me." Viggo said still holding his hand. Orlanus nodded, what else could he do, and allowed Viggo to help him from the bath.

If Viggo had a response to seeing all of him, wet and dripping, he hid it well. He took the long cloth that Viggo offered and quickly scrubbed the droplets of water from his skin before donning his borrowed clothing.

Viggo led him from the building and as they walked the wooded trail up from the town, Karl fell in behind them, far enough behind to provide privacy but close enough to ensure safety.

Orlanus couldn't help smiling at that and even chuckled. He was in no condition to strike at them. He was alone. And weaponless.  
They must have high opinions of him indeed if they still viewed him as a threat.

"What amuses you?" Viggo asked.

"You must think me very dangerous. I go no where without two of your men. But I am weaponless. And alone. What danger do I pose to you?" He said. Viggo did not reply.

Instead they walked for a time, up the gently climbing trail away from town toward the hilltop. There was a deep, moist pine and loam smell here under the thick trees. The path softened by layers of leaves and needles muffled their steps.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Elly followed the winding stone path from the lower, thatched bathhouse to the large expanse of the front hall. This time of day there were few about and he found the room blessedly quiet. A good place to think.

And he found he had a great deal to think on. He didn't think he would fall in love with the lovely, long limbed Roman. Not after these many days sharing his room and bed. After days of quiet waiting and gentle conversation.

And he loved Viggo too much for that. He surely had more control. Though he'd been tempted. If not for Karl he'd've long since tasted what pleasures Orlanus had to offer. But no.

No indeed he found himself caring, maybe for the first time, for someone out of sympathy. Out of empathy for his situation and concern for his happiness. And Viggo's.

It wasn't so long ago that he'd been the outlander himself. Riding behind Viggo all the way from the Black Sea, learning a new tongue and how to trust, for the first time, someone's touch as something other than a command or demand. Learning he had a choice.

And when the time had come to choose, he'd made the choice he wanted and not the once most expected.

And for that, he would serve Viggo for the rest of his days.

"Who is this grave man sitting alone in our hall, hm?" Ynn's voice rumbled in his ear.

Elly looked up at him and managed a tight smile as the man sat beside him, back to the table, fingers beneath Elly's chin.

"Surely not my little cockerel." He smiled. "What has darkened your brow, wolfing?"

Ynn had been his choice. When the time came and the need was too great, Ynn had been the one to take him in, to take him and make him part of his new family. It was one of only a few things he and Viggo had in common.

Ynn's brow lowered and he frowned. Elly swallowed visibly, fear tightening his gut. Viggo may have been king, but Ynn was a power unto himself and not to be toyed with or fooled.

Yet even after all this time, sharing his inner thoughts came hard for Elly. He envied Viggo's easy friendships and frank words. Envied because they were so difficult for him.

More than once Ynn had cut him from the pack and knocked some sense into him. Not in front of the men or Viggo, no, always alone. Alone and naked and hard and push pulled tied and fucked until he found his tongue and finally spoke or snarled or screamed his truth.

He hated it fiercely. And loved it. He might fuck his way through each seasons new boys or find his pleasure with Karl or even, once upon a time Viggo himself, but no one touched him like Ynn and no one ever would. Even now he found his way back into Ynn's bed, never letting more than a few weeks go by between times.

Ynn's fingers slid softly, dangerously under his jaw and down his neck. He started panting, ruthlessly strangling his need for flight, instinctively knowing he wanted this and bracing for it all the same.

The distance between them disappeared. Ynn slid his other hand into Elly's wild rage of black curls and rubbed their cheeks together, lips just touching his ear and began asking the questions he knew would flay the stubborn pride and leave him gasping and whole once more.

Elly closed his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~

'You must think me very dangerous.'

Viggo heard the words and felt again the raging fire kindled to inferno in the bathhouse. All of Orlanus long, leggy frame, wet and glowing from the heat had struck in him such a fury of desire he'd bitten the inside of his cheek to keep his wits.

Ynn was right, of course. He would be a poor advisor other wise. He didn't want a quick tumble. He could and did have that as he fancied before Orlanus came. No, he wanted that elusive treasure. The one held in memory and re-incarnated in the form of this Roman.

It was Orlanus who reminded him of his time in the East. Its customs and languages and its many dark and lovesome men and boys. He found now, years later, that he missed the rich variety and mystique he found there.

That first site of Orlanus' face had struck him like an arrow, memories and sensations crashing heavily through his mind. He was, he admitted, selfish. And foolhardy. And Ynn was again correct, after all this time, he too deserved something warm. Something alive.

Orlanus was warm. And alive. He had a fine mind, though still young, with a coltish grace that Viggo found intoxicating. He was beautiful but that was simply his first face. Now they'd spent time talking, Viggo had come to see that Orlanus was what many Romans despised; an Idealist.

He was driven and desired power like most Romans he'd met but he wasn't willing to sacrifice his sense of self to do it. He was true and loyal to the Commander he served and wished to return to him. And to his family. All honorable desires.

What he did not want was what waited for him in Rome. And perhaps even what waited for him back with his men. He was a man at war with himself and Viggo yearned for a time when he could share more openly his own views on Orlanus' struggles.

He supposed Karl was not really needed since the damage Orlanus posed to Viggo had already been done. Over the course of the week filled with the myriad duties he tended he found Orlanus firmly at the center of his thoughts. Try as he might, he could not dislodge him.

"Karl is simply doing as I ask. As does Elly. Perhaps not because you are dangerous. Perhaps because I am dangerous to you." He smiled at the Roman. "You sleep in my bed and live in my house," He held a hand up when Orlanus made to rebut him. "Because I wanted you there."

He watched the dark head drop, the eyes stare at the trail beneath their feet.

"I do not treat all of my 'guests' with such care." Again he watched but Orlanus made no move, no sound. "Did you not think it odd? I would have were I you."

The fire begun on that first day, it's flames banked since the bath suddenly blew hot and he closed the small distance between them. One glance and gesture sent Karl further down the trail, nearly out of sight, providing as much privacy as he could.

With gentle fingers he reached out and laid his hand on Orlanus cheek, reveled in the fine skin and soft scruff of beard, still so scant though unshaved these many days.

Tension froze the broad shoulders, made the muscles in the long slim neck jump. One long fingered hand rose and grasped Viggo's wrist and with it, eye's black as pitch, in a face hot with intense emotion.

"You would have me," the handsome mouth drew flat, anger crackled from him. "I am the first born son of Antonius of the Deliaii. My mother is of the Julii. I am of noble Roman blood and I will not…" He ripped his hand away from Viggo, dropped it to his waist clearly feeling for a missing weapon. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Karl stand and step closer but motioned him to stop.

Viggo's arm dropped slowly, heart thudding as he cursed his rashness and lack of fore thought. Oh he had misjudged and wretchedly. Even the sight of Orlanus in full anger which might otherwise fire his hunger instead scourged him with reproach. And yet, he found his own anger. This man was his prisoner to whom he'd been more than merciful.

"Orlanus it is not as you think. Please, let me,"

Orlanus breath came in quick gulps, blind and deaf to Viggo's words.

"All these days I thought I was to be ransomed but you never," He stuttered to a stop, realization rising across his face like wind before the gale. "They will not come. Have you killed them? Who was it?" Anxiety replaced anger. "Not Arenas, please, gods. I beg you not,"

Viggo snatched a waving hand and held it tight though Orlanus struggled to free it. He must put a stop to the young man's wild plunging emotions and did so in the straightest possible manner, with an open hand across the face sending Orlanus flying backwards rather ungracefully to the loamy path.

Orlanus raised stunned fingers to the red finger streaks on his cheek, wide shocked eyes stared at him, unseeing. A small dab of blood collected at the corner of his mouth. Viggo knelt an arms length away and as calmly as possible tried to make Orlanus understand.

"I have seen no one of your men or your commanders in the time you've been with me, Orlanus. No message was brought to me, no request. I do not kill messengers and when you know me better, you will come to see just how dangerous that accusation is. You were given to me as a blood debt. Any other man would simply kill you for revenge for the multitudes we've lost fighting you're red tide rising in our land. I have treated you as a guest in my house because 'I' saw fit to and because I wanted to and for no other reason. And if you were to stay under my roof it would not be as some petty catamite but as a shield brother the same as Karl and Elly. No man is a slave in my house. No. Man." Viggo stood.

Orlanus had calmed and was working his jaw, looking ruefully up at Viggo. Viggo held out his hand which Orlanus took and between them pulled Orlanus back to his feet. Viggo worked to calm his breath.

"Should you decide to return to your regiment, I will help you arrange that but you must replace the blood money you will cost me. As you are of Noble Family, I should think that ransom would be within your means and you would remain a 'guest' of mine until that ransom is paid." Orlanus nodded, his gaze clearer and calmer.

Viggo continued. "I had hoped," He swallowed, struggling for words to explain his desires. "I…You are welcome to stay. I…would like that. But I…it was important to me that you 'want' to stay. I have not been," he choked on the admission, the loss of his wife still too painful. "partnered," he swallowed again, "in a great while. I wished," he shook his head and closed his eyes, sighing deeply.

The touch, when it came, was both gentle and surprising. Viggo opened his eyes and Orlanus stood near, chests nearly touching, fingers cupping Viggo's cheek, his expression one of deep compassion.

"You must understand, my Lord," he put two fingers over Viggo's lips when he shied at the title. "I cannot, even if it were my dearest wish, pledge myself to you. I have a duty to my family, to my regiment and to Rome. I…" He paused, licked his lips. "You are not what I expected. And I have been a less than attentive guest. Will you help me arrange my return?"

Orlanus fingers were still on his lips, a hot two point touch that made paying attention difficult, but he nodded agreement and hoped the fingers would stay. Orlanus smiled.

"In return I will honor my parole to you with greater attention. Please," he dropped into formal phrasing and Viggo could see his eyes dip to the place where fingers lay across lips and felt hope surge. "forgive my emotional display. "

His eyes lifted again and this time he felt that Orlanus was actually there, alive, thinking, feeling. His lips opened slowly and he placed soft open mouthed kisses to each finger tip just as those fingers dropped away.

"Without reservation." He said and smiled. "Shall we start again?" he held out his hand, palm up. Orlanus opened his own and laid it in Viggo's, the warm weight a pleasant one and he closed his fingers.

~tbc~


	3. Before the Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fic: Before the Fall - A King's Ransom Ficlet  
> Oct. 4th, 2006 11:05 pm
> 
> Ficlet - Interlude  
> Author: fra  
> Pairing: Many and varied. Viggo/Orli primarily.  
> Rating: Mature  
> Warning AR (alternative reality/wishfully historical)  
> Summary: Oh those lazy hazy crazy days of summer.  
> Notes: This is for Namerie120. It is long overdue and is meant to be fluff. Sadly, I don't do very fluffy fluff.

The horses had run themselves out and now stood ankle deep, sides heaving, muzzles in the icy creek. Viggo watched them from the shaded bole of an immense oak, idly braiding a leather thong, one knee bent, sweat trickling down his chest in hot rivulets.

The last days of summer had meant leisure; time for lazy mornings sleeping and afternoons spent riding or sparing. His men lay in pairs and small groups under the reaching branches, passing water skins, joking and smiling. Viggo smiled with them.

Orlanus, now so comfortable with his men, sat between Elly and Karl, his smile soft and unguarded. Breathtaking. Viggo dropped his eyes back to his braiding, his breeches gone tight and humid.

The flutter of cloth caught his eye and he turned to see Dom, shirtless, running towards the water, fingers working the rough lace of his breeches, his men leering and whistling. But in a moment Wills followed and there erupted a flurry of linen and wool as each raced the other to divest his clothing and run to the blessed coolness of the water.

Viggo smiled broadly, laughed roundly until the group parted and he caught site of Orlanus, wiggling free of his tight northern breeches and laughing freely. He swallowed.

"Viggo!" A voice called to him. "With us!" Another echoed. He shook his head.

"No, Wills. I'm quite happy here." He called back. Orlanus made the last few feet to the water and shouted as he plunged into the creek, his long brown limbs making Viggo hungry to taste, to feel.

He was shaken from his brief reverie by the spatter of frigid water across his chest and the side of his face. He instinctively raised his hands, shouting, but he was surrounded and roughly shed of his clothes by the many hands of his traitorous sword brothers, carried to the rivers brim and unceremoniously tossed into the clear rippling water.

The savage bite of cold took his breath and he shouted as he broke the surface and found his feet, swearing and cursing as colorfully as he could manage. There commenced much splashing and hooting. Karl threw Elly over his shoulder, much to Elly's shock and suffered bitter revenge by way of a handful of slimy weeds between his ass cheeks.

Viggo couldn't help laughing at the look on Karl's face and the sound of his bellow of disgust. Elly's shriek of fear just made them all laugh louder and they watched as he wriggled, slippery as a seal within Karl's grasp. In the end Karl was the winner though Viggo suspected that later, they'd both win.

The water's unrelenting coldness finally forced the men back to the sunny slope of the bank where they flopped like so many fish, drinking in the sun's warmth and lazing sleepily. Wills eeled his way into the crook of Dom's body, pinned one bronzed arm to his chest and fell happily to sleep. Karl and Elly walked down the riverbank and away from prying eyes.

Soon the rest of them were breathing deeply in pairs or alone. Viggo lay on his side, one arm bent beneath his cheek as he watched the water flowing away and the soft lumps of his men on the bank. Not far away he could just see the rise of Orlanus hip, brown and tempting.

Hans rolled on to his back and suddenly Viggo met Orlanus eyes over the bridge of Hans nose. They looked at each other, faces passive, eyes locked, for the space of many breaths before Orlanus looked away, rose and walked up the bank toward the oak grove.

Viggo watched the lean strong back recede into the shadowed glade and disappear. It took him only a handful of heartbeats to roll to his feet and follow.

The air cooled as he entered the shade and a moment passed before his eyes adjusted. Orlanus stood against the wide round bole Viggo had vacated earlier, watching him approach, eyes darkened with hunger.

"My lord," He murmured just before Viggo grasped him, hands round the soft muscle of his upper arms, weight bearing him back against the hard wood of the tree. " I had begun to despair…" whatever followed was lost in Viggo's mouth.

Viggo kissed him opened mouthed and wet, the feel of Orlanus lips soft as he remembered, his skin smooth and still cool from the water but for the hot thrust of his cock against Viggo's thigh. Orlanus murmured something in Roman as Viggo ate at the skin of his neck and he gasped loudly when Viggo's hand closed around the base of his cock.

Orlanus spoke then, rough words in broken German and some Roman as Viggo worked the length of his cock. "Why? Why did you make me wait so long. Why now. Sweet goddess, yes. Oh…" he panted.

Viggo released Orlanus' nipple and stood up, meeting his eye even as he continued stroking Orlanus' cock. "Because I could not wait a moment longer." he rumbled and kissed Orlanus again.

After a moment he drew away and lowered himself to the ground, tugging Orlanus hand, mutely asking him to follow. Orlanus sank to his knees as gracefully as a Sultan's dancer and Viggo's cock surged, his attention narrowed to the tempting curve of lip and thigh.

Viggo took Orlanus in his arms and turned, lowering him to the mossy forest floor. He dug into his abandoned leather satchel for oil and wasted not a moment before pouring it onto his shaking fingers, spilling some on Orlanus belly and his own thigh in the process. Orlanus wrapped his hand around Viggo's wrist. The touch drew Viggo's gaze up to Orlanus face.

"You're shaking." he whispered.

Viggo swallowed.

"Has it been so long?" Orlanus asked, eyes searching his face.

Viggo felt the rough edge of grief, not nearly as softened by time as he thought it might be, and nodded. "Yes." He admitted.

Orlanus nodded. "Here, let me." he said and drew his hand across Viggo's, collecting the oil even as he pulled Viggo down for a another kiss. Slick fingers wrapped around Viggo's cock, spreading the oil as they stroked him. Arousal and grief choked Viggo and he felt his chest grow tight and thick.

He could smell the mossy loam mixed with the heady aroma of male arousal. The smells made him ache for the last time he'd taken a lover here. For the loss of that time and that lover. Nearly two years gone and the pain still gnawed at him. But this was not David, this man under him. Nor was he any of the many who he'd tried to forget with.

Orlanus' hands cupped his shaft and scrotum, his legs a warm weight around Viggo's waist. There was no hesitation, no doubt on Orlanus face. Only the drowsy, half lidded look of desire.

"My lord, please…" Orlanus murmured. "Viggo..."

And there was a clunk in his chest, a weight swung free, opened him to this moment, closed on the moments of the past. The feeling made him sigh out a soft breath and nod.

"Yes..." He said and shifted his weight, covering Orlanus hand with is own, guiding his cock to Orlanus crease. Orlanus' arched his back then reversed, curling his hips up as Viggo entered him, fitting his hips to Orlanus in one true, solid thrust.

"Aahh…" Orlanus moaned and sucked in his lower lip, his brow furrowed with concentration as Viggo plowed him. Viggo could see the rise of pleasure on Orlanus' face and he gasped and grunted when Orlanus tightened his muscles, tilted his hips and used his catamites skills on him.

Orlanus smiled a filthy smile, bit his lip again at the bottom of a thrust. Viggo dragged himself out, nearly his whole length, returned Orlanus smile and thrust hard, jolting the slim body a few inches along the forest floor.  
"Gods!" Orlanus cried out.

Viggo continued to smile as he speared slow and deep into Orlanus. He smiled as Orlanus huffed on each stab and when Orlanus' chin came up and he arched, shooting a thick jet of come across his flat belly, Viggo barked out a cry of victory and came messily, shudderingly and with abandon.


	4. Wolgemut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aug. 12th, 2007 10:56 am
> 
> Title: Wolgemut
> 
> Author: wede
> 
> Pairing: Viggo/Orlando, Elijah/Karl, Elijah/other, Dom/Billeh, Ian/Elijah, also mention of het and femslash.
> 
> Rating: Mature
> 
> Warning AR (history flavored with a hint of carnality and soupcon of wishful thinking)  
> Summary: Viggo must find a way to make Orlanus want to stay. And some of the men make light and are put in their places. He's not King for nothing.  
> Please ask before archiving.
> 
> Disclaimer: fic·tion (fĭk'shən)n.
> 
> Word count: 1980
> 
> Beta: Namarie120 looked this over for me (thank you!). Her only comment was more. So all the mistakes in it are mine and mine alone.
> 
> Part 1 Des Konigs Loesgeld  
> Part 2 King's Ransom  
> Part 3 (pornish interlude for Namarie)Before the Fall
> 
> Wolgemut is an old Germanic term meaning, 'to be in a good mood'.
> 
> wede
> 
> 2005

Viggo's men gathered in the outer paddock of the east wing stables at midday, everyday, to practice and learn and care for their gear. The roofline was long and low with great shaggy overhanging thatch under which benches had been placed facing the open-ended paddock.

Boys ran about, mock fighting and wrestling while older men sharpened weapons and laughed, passing earthen jars of beer between them and making rude jokes about each other.

At the far end of the benches a stump served as target for a few practicing throwing knives while two worked leather into thongs, the ends beneath their feet.

"That's it, then." Will said, tying one end of leather off and setting it aside.

"What's it, then?" said his friend.

"Fighting Rome, in the spring. We've a bargaining chip now. So, no fighting. I think I may get married." Will mused and selected several strands of leather from the next group. His friend smacked him in the head with the bundle of leather strings.

"Hey." He said, rubbing the wound.

"Lunkhead. Viggo's keeping'im." Said his friend.

"He is not." Will felt the rush of righteous indignation. "That's insane. He's. No, Dom, he's not is he?" The anger in his voice bled away to panicked disbelief.

"Yes, he is." Dom said then grabbed a handful of Will's jerkin and pulled him into his lap. "And there's no getting married for you, daft bugger." Dom sealed his proclamation with a hard, deep kiss. "Not while I'm around, you're not."

"And just who d'you think I was talking about?" Will smiled.

Dom hummed, pulling Will deeper into his lap, laughing up into blazing hazel eyes.

~~~~~~~~~

"The house is three leagues south, Sir. Guarded, as we thought." Linus stood at attention waiting for Csokas to reply. Csokas nodded, a short hard shake of the head, turned his back on his soldiers and walked back to the small fire.

He watched the fire's flickering lights, or seemed to, his hand clenched tight around the handle of his sword and images of Orlanus rolling through his mind. As a boy, just arrived with the battalion, so brash and affectionate. Csokas had very nearly had before Arenas saw caught sight of the boy. There'd been no end of simmering antagonism between them because of it.

Even now, years later, Orlanus still occupied his thoughts, populated his fantasies, circled carefully around the edges of his awareness, all that clear, brown skin and the narrow width of hips a constant attraction.

And his commander was a calculating bastard. Arenas would leave Orlanus sleeping, used and barely covered while he attended to business, providing a bit of distraction that kept Csokas just that much off balance.

A tactic that had worked brilliantly.

Csokas’ grip tightened as he remembered the implied insult. 'I have him, you don't' was what that said to him and he resented Arenas bitterly for it.

Now, with Orlanus so close by, he was wracked with anxiety.

Tomorrow he would send a message and a man into the midst of their enemy and try to retrieve his commanders’s lost centurion.

What would happen then would depend a great deal on Orlanus condition.

If he were alive, there was no doubt he'd be returned to the regiment and most certainly beaten for his insubordination. And sent back to Rome in shame. Most likely to marry and become part of his family's holdings. Though how well he'd do making sons was up for debate.

Csokas smiled darkly. Oh yes, Orlanus making sons was laughable. His life with the army suited him perfectly. He was a passable soldier, yes, but he was a sublime catamite and one that he knew Arenas would miss greatly.

Perhaps there was a chance even now for Marton to acquire Orlanus. Perhaps a life with Marton would prove more appealing than the shadow life of Rome and its sordid charades. Well. All would be revealed on the morrow.

He gestured to the men to set up their rude camp and doffed his cloak to settle in for the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

Far to the south, just on the border with Alsace, one cohort lead by a young commander, Quintus, made camp. Their uniforms were clean and new, well kept and finely woven. Even through the leagues of marching, all of them were well shod and fed, their tempers even and stable.

Quintus dropped into his chair with a hearty sigh and accepted a cup of wine from his steward, Darius. His commanders sat around him, drinking and laughing. All his age, all jovial and flush with money and the heady feeling of power.

Tomorrow they would cross into the Germanic lands and put an end to the bastard Delias’ only remaining son.

Quintus looked forward to dipping his sword into noble blood.

~~~~~~~~~~

Boron sat, elbows on the heavy wooden table, head in his hands. The rough drawing Faran had given him lay to one side, its small red lines with Roman numerals staring balefully back at him.

He sat back and sighed.

"So, two factions of Rome meet here to fight over one man?" Boron smiled ruefully. "I'm made to feel very grateful I gave that boy away." He looked thoughtfully at Faran, ideas working at fevered pitch in his mind.

Faran sat back, hands across the bridge of his belly and looked at back at his brother.

“Time to fight, brother.” Faran said. The look on Boron’s face confirmed that he agreed.

“Call the men.” Boron said. Faran nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~

Orlanus dreamt of Rome. The marble hall of his father’s home spilled away from his dreaming eyes, a confusion of black marble and blood red drapes, the Corinth’s topped in gold.

A small Nubian Monkey perched by his head whispered that his father’s house was draped in blue and wondered, in his mother’s voice, when the drapes had been changed.

He floated dizzily down the long colonnade toward the family bath where his sister, Orlania, sat playing a strange lute strung with flames that burned her fingers though her tranquil expression never changed.

His blood pumped frantically and he called out to her but the sound, when it came, was pale and stretched and his arms would not move though he struggled to lift them.

Against the bathing room wall a strange silhouette danced and he watched in horror as the dark figures tangled and fell leaving a pool of blood running toward his sandaled feet.

Panic gripped him and he jumped to avoid the red tide, the startle making it through to his sleeping body and he jerked and cried out into the darkened timber room.

“Antonias!” He screamed, his breath coming in gasping heaves.

Beside him, Viggo woke in shocked alarm. He turned himself on the bed, knelt and took both of Orlanus’ hands and looked him in eye.

“Orlanus, come now. You’ve been dreaming. Come back to me.” Viggo spoke in a low, soothing patter until reason returned to Orlanus eyes and he returned the clasp of Viggo’s hands.

“Antonias, my father. I dreamed…I dreamt..” Orlanus shook visibly. “My father is dead.” He said finally.

Viggo paled, his mouth setting into a thin line.

“It was a dream, friend. That is all. Come now, lay with me.” Viggo moved slowly back to Orlanus’ side and helped him to lie back onto the furs.

“…a dream.” He murmured.

Viggo kissed Orlanus’ brow and gently swept the sweaty hair away from his eyes.

“Come, let me help you forget.” Viggo whispered and kissed Orlanus’ mouth.

Orlanus parted his lips greedily, sighing into the kiss, his eyelids drooping. He lifted his head, his kiss growing harder, Orlanus’ hands coming up to frame Viggo’s face, keeping him in still as he licked into the King’s mouth.

He slid his leg over Viggo’s hips, jammed his elbow down into the bed and used his leverage to flip them, Viggo coming to rest under Orlanus with a muffled thump.

The jolt knocked them apart, Viggo looking up at the Roman, his eyes narrowing.

“And what would you have of me, Legionary Delia?” Viggo murmured in the Roman tongue.

Orlanus teased Viggo’s lips with his own, sweeping down across them and away, all the while looking into Viggo’s face. “Only what you would have of me, my Lord King.” Orlanus answered in German.

Viggo smiled, reaching up to capture the teasing lips, eyebrow raised.

“And is that not reaching above your station, Legionary Delia?” Viggo countered.

Orlanus smiled dirtily and kissed Viggo again. He looked Viggo up and down, taking in the hard carved planes of his face and the blue eyes, the lush lips, sweeping in to kiss again.

When he released Viggo, he sobered. “Help me to forget, Viggo. Help me…”

Viggo slid his hands up, circling his arms around Orlanus waist.

“Then, take what you need.”

The two regarded each other until Orlanus lowered his head and tugged Viggo’s lip into his mouth. He rolled his hips and Viggo responded, their skin becoming sweaty where they touched.

Viggo’s thighs slid apart and Orlanus settled between them, one hand sliding down the sleek hip and over the round muscle of his ass, lifting Viggo’s thigh, settling it over his own legs.

Viggo began to pant, his breath coming quicker as Orlanus dipped his fingers in the oil, watched as the hand slid between them, jumping slightly as the fingers bumped and slid over his sac and down, across his perineum and brushed wetly over his hole.

He nodded quickly when Orlanus slowed, looking at him.

“When?” Orlanus breathed.

Viggo sighed. “Long ago. It doesn’t matter now. Go on.” He nodded.

Orlanus returned his nod and slipped a finger into Viggo. Viggo’s chin lifted, he gasped and smiled, tightly. “Go on…” he said.

Orlanus worked Viggo open slowly, with long dragging pulls and thick fingered plunges, until Viggo’s eyes rolled back and his lids drooped closed and he began to swear in his guttural Germanic tongue.

He entered Viggo when Viggo’s words became only moans and gasps. His cockhead breached the outer ring of muscle and Viggo arched under him, swearing. Orlanus slid his knees up under Viggo’s thighs, pushing himself up until he sat back onto his heels, hands resting on the ridges of Viggo’s hips.

Orlanus let his head dropped back and his hips ride up, pushing his cock deep into Viggo, dragging his crown over the small knot of nerves. Viggo bucked and Orlanus pushed down with his hands, letting his hips drop back down and then rise again, slowly, plunging deep and long into the hot tightness.

Again, Orlanus breathed in, rose, stabbing up and up, holding Viggo down brutally, then exhaling slowly, dropping back to his heels. In, rise, thrust; down, out exhale. Orlanus’ teeth clicked closed and he groaned long and loud, his finish beginning to build in his tight sac, tempting him to thrust hard and fast.

But he held his ground, keeping to his slow pace even as Viggo bucked again, curving up, his shoulders off the bed as he looked at their joined bodies and dropped back swearing.

The thrusts slowed, deepened, and Orlanus opened his mouth, his brow folded into a grimace and he hollered as he shot his come deep into Viggo’s body.

Viggo pushed up with his hips and this time Orlanus allowed him, letting Viggo push him back amongst the furs, his limbs heavy and languid from his pleasure. Viggo felt Orlanus slide from him as he pushed him down and he dropped his hand down to collect the Roman’s come and slap it on his own aching cock.

A moment later he was deep inside and thrusting, pushing Orlanus further into the furs with each frantic thrust. He dropped his head down onto Orlanus shoulder and screamed out as he finish, Orlanus’ hand in his hair.


End file.
